Sunday, April 22, 2012

Tower of Flames

When I was growing up, I had a great friend named Seth. We hit it off the first time we met on the tennis/basketball court by the school. His brother G.R. and my brother Jeff knew each other, so eventually we were going to meet. What ensued after that first encounter was years of good times, helping each other, and general kid type mayhem. Seth’s dad Gary was the postmaster for Drummond and an avid horseshoe pitcher. Seth was into it as well, so I decided to give it a try. I thought it was both a weird and fun hobby. There were times we would get up at 5:00 am to make it to a tournament by 8:00. The first few I didn’t much care for, but then I started winning a few. I’d caught the horseshoe pitching bug thanks to the Maixners. I still have a couple of the trophies to this day.


Not everything that Seth and I did was as productive as winning tournaments and playing basketball. I hate to admit it, but there was a little destruction here and there as well. The fact that neither of us wound up in the hospital because of some of the stupid stuff we did is a mild miracle. Since we lived in a very safe town, we were free to roam all over creation as long as we told our parents where we were going and when we’d be back. This opened up our days to explore Drummond and the surrounding area. It also opened up our days to find out what the effects of fire were on various things. Bear in mind that we never caused a structure fire, a grass fire, or any permanent noticeable damage to the world around us…but we were little pyros for about a week.


Our first venture into the effects of fire was of a legal nature: fireworks! I never got to buy my own fireworks, so I relied on friends that would give me a Black Cat or two. Seth and I had some Black Cats and Jumping Jacks that were left over from the 4th of July. We decided to light them and toss them around his yard. That was fun for about twenty minutes. Then we got the brilliant idea to put one under a paper cup. BAM! The paper cup was torn to shreds. It was like angels were singing from the heavens. Small amounts of gun powder could cause some mild destruction. This was the most awesome revelation for two boys. We soon began setting up more intricate things to blow up. We also discovered that if you cut small firecrackers open, you could empty the powder into a larger tube and make bigger bangs. We never achieved the big boom we had hoped for since we didn’t have an endless supply of Black Cats. We did, however, manage a bang so loud that the neighbors thought we had a .22 or something similar. Eventually the firecrackers ran out and we were left with the prospect of waiting nine or ten more months for the 4th of July to come back around. We started digging through his family’s tool shed looking for stuff to get into. That’s when we found the gas can. We knew that gasoline was flammable and the potential of danger, burns, and fun was close at hand, but what to do? Our first and only experiment with gasoline started with a red spray paint can lid. We thought we should stay in the garage for the experiment, since the wind might be a negative variable in our quest for fire. First, we sprayed a bunch of paint into the cap. That looked pretty good. Next, we poured a little lighter fluid in because we weren’t 100% sure the gasoline would light. Finally, we topped off the can’s cap with gasoline. It was an interesting viscous looking blend. We stood and stared at it for a couple of minutes wondering what level of danger we were about to engage in. Seth went in the house and got a small box of matches. We couldn’t decide who would be the one to light it and who would be there to put out the flames if need be. I took a deep breath and volunteered for the lighting duties. I lit the first match and chickened out. I got down on one knee next to the cylinder of death and struck another match. As I leaned in to put the match to the gasoline, I paused. I looked at Seth and asked, “Does gasoline light right away or does it take a minute to get going?” He thought for a few seconds as the match burned closer to my fingers. “I’m pretty sure it takes a minute to get going,” was his eventual reply. With half the match in cinders, I reached down toward the cap. My hand was inches away from the flammable soup when a WHOOSH enveloped my hand. We had left it sitting long enough for the fumes to be hovering above the paint cap. I squealed like a girl and jumped back falling on my ass. I thought for sure that my hand was going to melt off if I looked at it. Seth was bouncing around like a golden gloves boxer, not sure if he needed to save me or put out the fire. I looked down at my hand and there was nothing wrong with it. I couldn’t believe it. I looked back at the spray paint can lid. It was a tiny tower of flames. We sat wide eyed for a few seconds as we watched it burn. Then the plastic lid started to melt, which caused the liquid to start pouring out the side, which caused a big puddle of spreading flames. We had the garden hose out and ready to extinguish any stray flames, but our little pyro tower fizzled out before we had the need to use it. The big fire experiment was over. I’m still not sure if it was a success or a failure, but it taught us not to play around with fire and gasoline anymore.


We cleaned up our area of destruction and went in the house to play some Defender on his Atari. As we played, I kept thinking I smelled something burning, so I was constantly getting up to see if the flames had reignited. Seth said he didn’t smell anything and I shouldn’t worry about it. Playing Atari and drinking Kool-Aid, an eventual bathroom break was inevitable. I stepped into the bathroom, looked in the mirror, and discovered that my eyebrows and nose hair had been singed. That’s why I could smell something burnt and Seth couldn’t. I rubbed my nose and eyebrows, used the facilities, washed my hands, and never mentioned the tower of flames to anyone…until today.


See some of the other things I'm up to at www.JonathanElmore.weebly.com


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